I’m not sure if it means he’s talking about a promotion or something really bad. It kind of seems like the latter because suddenly, Leon shifts just a fraction. It’s hardly a movement at all, but I know him because I’ve watched him—and no, not in a creepy way. I’m just really observant, and he’s also my job, so it pays to be hyperaware sometimes—but he does it, and Leon doesn’t do things like that.
The chats. Oh my god, he knows about the chats.“Umm, like if we’re talking about finding someone, tying them up, and throwing them in the river, then I don’t think so.”
He grunts at me, which is laughter for Leon. I suddenly feel way too hot on the inside, like my ovaries are boiling. “I was talking about keeping this company together and keeping your job. Would you do something to keep your job? Of course, there would be a rather large bonus attached to the request for your troubles.”
Oh fuck. He’s going to ask me to do a hit. I know it. Probably death by poisonous muffins. Or fetch nefarious coffees for the offending members of that chat. Dear god, I’m going to jail. Or I’m dead. Because he wouldn’t ask me to off someone and then let me get away with knowing that he asked, would he?
“Uh, that’s kind of vague.” I’m barely holding my shit together right now. I thought Leon was a nice guy under that gruff exterior. Because every hard-ass bosshole of a boss hides a soft, mushy interior because they don’t want anyone to know how they really are sweet inside, don’t they?
Leon stands up, walks over to the office door, and shuts it. Then, he flips the lock.Holy shit, why is he flipping the lock?Maybe he wants to talk about some kind of raise or promotion. Perhaps he’s noticed how hard I’ve been working, and he wants me to take on more responsibility. Or it could be about a sensitive issue about a client that needs handling. We do get those on occasion. People aren’t always happy to have their lives meddled with, even if it’s to save their company, and they’re the ones paying in the first place. Sometimes they don’t always come to us. Sometimes Leon finds them.
He sits back down, and I notice how his pants ride up at the ankles, away from his expensive black leather shoes, revealing black socks. No skin. I’ve never seen Leon anything less than put together. He never does that delicious guy thing and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, but I freely admit that I’ve shamelessly fantasized about his veiny, golden, muscular forearms on more than one occasion.
Notthatkind of occasion.
Just occasions like when I’m bored, sitting at my desk, and have a few extra minutes to think about things.
“This might sound strange,” Leon says, his voice low, so low. So no one else can hear. “I need you to legitimately marry me, but the marriage itself would be fake.”
I nearly fall off my chair.Holy freaking farge, what?“I—uh—marriage?” The word explodes out there between us, and I say it like I’m asking who cooked sardines in the staff lunchroom microwave, let them explode, and then left that mess for me to find and clean up. Nothing puts me in a worse mood than baked-on sardine explosions.
The overhead lights, which are on a dimmer switch, catch in the rich mahogany waves of Leon’s hair as he leans forward in his seat, revealing the slightly reddish undertones I never knew were there before. He has perfect hair. Literally. It’s never out of place and so thick and healthy. I bet he uses really expensive, yummy smelling shampoo. And soap.Oh god, Leon in the shower. Oh god, his hair in the shower. Oh god, his hair all the time.I’d give my left nut just to tousle it once. Ha. That is, if I had nuts. I always did like that saying.
“Killing me here,” Leon informs me, and I flush an even brighter color. I’m sure I’m turning into the Christmas scale of reds and near purples by now. “I’ll lay it out for you. I’m at risk of being deported due to a clerical error. I need to get legally married to stay, and the marriage would have to be legit on paper. Any questions or interviews that Immigration has would have to be answered and satisfied. The marriage would be kept between us. In exchange, I’m willing to offer fifty thousand dollars as a bonus for a client that you’ll take on shortly. A very big client. That’s just the first step in your promotion. For landing said client, there will be others, and after a year, or perhaps sooner, once I have what I need, the marriage will be legally terminated.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “You can’t…you can’t talk about marriage like it’s an agreement.” Right. So that wasn’t what I wanted to say. “I mean, anyone would know it’s fake. We haven’t even dated.”
“We’ll say we kept it a secret because of the nature of our work relationship. It wouldn’t have been professional and would have caused issues in the office.”
“We wouldn’t be living together. They’d find out.”
“We’d say that you have to sell your place, and it’s taken longer than expected to put it on the market. Also, we wanted to keep things as separate as possible until we were married and then still keep our living arrangements and relationship private.”
“I live in a freaking duplex, and I rent,” I said sardonically.
“I’ll think of something.”
This is crazy. Of all the things I expected when I walked in here, marriage was not on the table. “You can’t pay me to be your wife! That’s…everyone would think that I got this huge bonus and a promotion for doing um…uh…doing inappropriate things with you!” I don’t mention how my constant defending him to people here would be a big red flag.
Leon huffs, all business. He’s thought of everything, but he’s good at that. In the office, he’s flawless. I’ve never seen him make a mistake. “That’s not true. You work closely with me. You could have done some of your own work, taken the initiative, and landed a big client that I didn’t have time to deal with. I noticed your potential as you’ve been helping me with clients for a year. You wanted to get noticed, and you did. The promotion was well earned.”
I seal my lips together. Leon’s obviously been thinking about this for a while though he literally just broke it to me a minute ago. That’s why I’m freaking out while he’s Mr. Cool As Poo Turd over there.
I focus on my notepad for a second, but I refuse to act like I’m a scared ninny, so I wrench my eyes back to his face. “No. I can’t do that.”
Leon’s face takes on that edge that I’m used to. It’s his—I don’t take shit from anyone, especially the asshole clients who think they can fuck with me—face. He’s never had to look at me like that. I’ve never messed up his coffee, accidentally roasted his suit at the cleaners, or messed up files or emails or anything I was working on. I’ve always been careful.
When he looks at me like that, it makes my stomach clench, and not in the bad way that it should. It also does a number on my panties, something along the lines of a flash flood. When he tilts his head and his jaw ticks, I notice that he has a small, jagged scar right along his jawline by his left earlobe.
I already know he has a longer, rougher one that he normally hides with the collar of his shirts. A few weeks ago, I was in a meeting taking notes, and I realized that his collar was unbuttoned. He was at the front, walking around, and the button must have come undone. I stared at him until he did it up, but not before I’d seen the scar.
He probably played rough growing up. That makes me squirm in my seat and hot from head to toe. The word rough should not be a turn-on. Nothing about my boss should be a turn-on.Holy mustard and smokies, I need to stop staring.I cling to the fact that I know his ultimate weakness—a good grilled cheese. At least there’s that in this unholy power dynamic. I’m swimming in icy, shark-infested waters, and that grilled cheese has to serve as my life raft.
“I can’t do that,” I say again, this time in more of a whisper. It sounds more like a question too.
That makes one of his dark brows curl up at me. God, he’s so intense. “Are you sure? Because I think it’s more than you on the line.” The bastard. He knows about my sister and parents. How? I don’t know how, but he knows. He’s richer than sin and clearly has access to whatever information he wants. “I’ll sweeten the deal, and you won’t have to take care of anything. I can have everything arranged for this Saturday. I’ll pay for everything, including the divorce when the time comes.”
“It’s not real,” I garble, nearly choking on my own tongue. “We could get in lots of trouble for doing something like that.”